He grinned and patted her backside lightly. "Too late, you already have. Don't you want me to have a regular job?"

"I'd like that, yes. But I don't want you getting hurt trying to build some kind of impossible reputation."

"Tell you, there's no worry on that score, I'll be perfectly safe, Gabriel's coming with me."

"I see." It would have to be Gabriel he took along. Eleanor reckoned her psi ability was completely tabloid. But if she started protesting now he'd think she was just being childishly petulant. And she could hardly see the two of them running off together, Gabriel had to be at least ten years older than Greg. Whatever bond they had between them was locked safely in the past.

"I'm only being practical," he said. "Gabriel can spot trouble long before it starts. And whilst we're on the subject of practical, you might care to look at the chalet walls sometime. We're providing a home for more insects than you'll find at a natural history museum."

"Money," she said in disgust. "It always boils down to money."

"The way the world's built. Nothing to do with me."

She rested her head on his chest, listening to his heartbeat. "I know. I wasn't angry at you."

"There's something else wrong, too," he said. "I simply cannot believe a mole, no matter how highly placed, could breach a security cordon which Morgan Walshaw set up; certainly not a security cordon around something as ultra-hush as the giga-conductor. The stuff is Event Horizon's entire future. You haven't met him, but take it from me, he's as good as they come. Reliable, smart, experienced, he just doesn't make elementary mistakes. If it had been breached at any time in the last ten years, he'd know."

Eleanor thought he was saying it mechanically, as though he was trying to convince himself with repetition. "So the mole isn't an executive, he's on the inside of the cordon."

He shifted his shoulders, restless. "Doubtful, Walshaw would arrange to have every one of Ranasfari's research team vetted and constantly reviewed. And if the mole was on the inside, how come he knew of Philip Evans's NN core?"

"Oh, yes. Hey, what about a psychic? Surely someone with a gland could peer in on both the giga-conductor laboratory and the clinic where they spliced the NN core together?"

"Unlikely, although I admit it's possible. There aren't many of us, not even worldwide. And the premier-grades, the ones whose esp is powerful enough to reach into Event Horizon's research facilities from a distance, you can count them on one hand. Not that they're used for anything so mundane as trawling in any case. It's like this; to bring in a premier-grade psychic you have to know there's something worthwhile for them to peek. Almost a catch-twenty-two scenario. Normally, premier-grades are brought in to acquire specific items, like a formula or template. And as Event Horizon has already patented the giga-conductor that would seem to preclude their involvement. If a kombinate had acquired the giga-conductor's molecular structure they would've slapped down the patent before Event Horizon. The blitz would never have happened."

"A prescient like Gabriel, then. One of them looked into the future and saw Event Horizon churning out the giga-conductor, and sold the information to a kombinate."

"Gabriel is the best prescient there is, and she didn't know, not even with her own future interwoven with the giga-conductor."

Eleanor nearly said that it could've been a prescient who wasn't so totally neurotic as Gabriel, but held her peace. Greg could get quite unreasonably defensive when it came to the silly woman. It was the military clique thing again. She knew she would never be able to appreciate the kind of combat traumas which they had been through together in Turkey.

"So what are you trying to say?" she asked.

"Just that it doesn't ring straight. Blitzing the core out of spite isn't kombinate behaviour."

"It was a vendetta, then."

He let out a long wistful sigh, frowning. "Wish I knew."

"Poor Greg."

She snuggled closer, brushing her breasts provocatively against his torso as she slid on top of him. Greg had a thing about big breasts, which she exploited ruthlessly when they were having sex. He glanced down owlishly, frown fading.

"I was thinking," he said. "Why don't you come with me when I visit my contacts? There's one in Peterborough I'll probably visit."

She tried not to show any surprise. Nicole had dropped the occasional hint that he'd taken an active part in the events leading up to the Second Restoration, and she'd guessed that was tied up somewhere with his old Army mates in Peterborough. But he'd never offered to introduce them before.

"I'd like that." Short pause. "Will Gabriel be coming?"

"Er, no. The contact I'm thinking of doesn't like too many visitors. We can go the day after tomorrow; I fixed up to take Gabriel to Duxford in the morning, interview Ranasfari's people. Shouldn't take long."

"Right." She thought it was about time to lighten the atmosphere, take him away from intrigue and human failings. She tapped a hard fingernail on his sternum. "Now what about this Julia? She sounds a bit of a handful to me."

"She is. You'll never guess what she wanted me to do."

"What?" She couldn't help the note of bright curiosity which bubbled into her voice.

"I'll show you."

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

LESS CHOICE LESS PRICE

The crude placards lined the M11 for kilometres either side of Cambridge. Large kelpboard squares, sprayed with fluoro-pink lettering that dribbled like a window’s condensation. They flapped beneath sturdy sun-blistered road signs, themselves so old the few legible names had distances in miles.

CAKE AND EAT IT NOW!

"What's the matter with them?" Gabriel exclaimed irritably as the Duo passed Little Shelford. "Do they want those bloody card carriers back in power?"

KRILL DON'T HAVE BOLLOCKS

THEY JUST TASTE LIKE THEM

"You are deep into student country," Greg told her, amused by her reaction. "What did you expect? They just don't like governments, full stop. Any sort of government. Never have, never will. They think demonstrating political awareness is exciting. You should encourage questing young minds."

DIGNITY NOT ECONOMIC THEORY

The Duo's cooler was going full blast, grinding uncomfortable gusts of frigid air. Gabriel's grunt was lost in the noise of the fans.

"They can't have it both ways," she said. "Two years there wasn't any food at all. Inflation is the price you pay a free-market economy. Wages rise to cope, it's cyclic."

"But do student grants rise as well?"

"Christ, whose side are you on? If they're so bloody aware they should know freedom isn't perfect. If they'd tried protesting when Armstrong was running the country they would've become non-people before you could say community responsibility."

"So put up your own banners, tell them, not me."

The motorway was in surprisingly good condition. Dead sycamores with peeling bark and bleached wood rose out of the scrub tangle at the edge of the hard shoulder. Greg toed the brake as they approached a large densely packed patch of scarlet flowers shining with livid intensity under the Sahara-bright sun. He thought they were poppies at first, except they were too big. A single palm-sized petal, waxy; thousands of them waving in the breeze.

"Someone agrees with you," he said drily, inclining his head. Two young men in sombreros and dirty jeans were ripping down one of the kelpboard placards. Their bicycles lay on the fringe of the flamingo flower carpet. He spotted badges with the deep-blue crown of the New Conservative party emblem pinned on their T-shirts.

Gabriel nodded with tight approval at this vandalism of graffiti. Greg returned to the tarmac ahead. Crazy world.